


In Carcere et Vinculis

by somnicordia (hihazuki)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: ALSO KNOWN AS THE SHUAKE NIER AU, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-03 20:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13349166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihazuki/pseuds/somnicordia
Summary: Since the day of his manufacturing, Crow had little problem restricting his emotions. After all, his job was simple. He was created as an all-purpose battle android, deployed as a member of the automated MetaNav infantry. Unlike scanner models who were programmed with the natural curiosity necessary for their missions, he was spared such meaningless minutiae.Due to his high respect for the chain of command, he never sees it fit to question his orders. As far as he is concerned, executing his missions optimally is his highest priority.Emotions are prohibited.





	In Carcere et Vinculis

**Author's Note:**

> _clears throat_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> this all started out with me making a crack-ish [P5xNieR](https://twitter.com/makarakaja/status/950130877865934848) au where i literally just put the gang in pre-existing NieR outfits. there was no coherent, solid au out of it whatsoever, and i had no plans to do any. but then lo and behold. this is the first time i've ever written any solo fic, so please go easy on me!
> 
> and worry not, i did not in good conscience leave crow and joker's design as is. since this is a decently heavy fic, [this](https://twitter.com/makarakaja/status/951214384906252288) is what they look like. 
> 
> last but not least, a huge thank you to my best friend [tiana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Veeran/pseuds/Veeran) for being so exhaustive in support. also THANK YOU [angel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nafnaf/pseuds/nafnaf) and [chrome](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromophilic_Daydream) for your enthusiastic love and betaing for this fic! without you guys, i would never have the courage to post this lol. ~~man, sure feels nice to be validated by authors i admire!!~~
> 
> and without [frankie](https://twitter.com/thatumbrellaoni/status/957074430945103872), who happens to be 80% of my impulse control, this fic would not even have come to fruition. click the link. just click it. look what they did. i do not have enough words to properly express my love and gratitude to you all.
> 
> if you want the complete NieR™ experience, play [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KqXeeQ4wCSU&t=6s) while reading it. it's worth it, i promise.
> 
> PRETTY HEAVY NOVEL AND CONCERT SPOILERS AHEAD. you have been warned.

 

_Everything that lives is designed to end._

 

_We are perpetually trapped in a never-ending spiral of life and death._

 

_Is this a curse? Or some kind of punishment?_

 

_I often think about the god who blessed us with this cryptic puzzle—_

 

_—and wonder if we'll ever get the chance to kill him._

 

 

_._

 

 

_._

 

 

_._

 

 

_._

 

 

 

 

The first time Joker dies, Crow doesn’t know how to describe the feelings in his chest. His locomotive functions suddenly become heavier, and empty static rings louder in his ears. Had Joker hacked into him before he breathed his last? It can’t be.

 

He watches the blood slide down the underside of his serrated blade, one that had only been used to slay countless machine lifeforms and distinctly feral fauna.

 

Up until now.

 

_Drip, drip, drip._

 

“Wh-why…” Joker croaks, beautiful red spilling like a curtain from his lips, his eyes glazed over in pain and shock.

 

“Your ‘justice’,” Crow says, wondering why it feels like his respiratory functions are failing. “This is where it leads you.”

 

“I thought….you...t-trusted me…” he wheezes. “You...you said…”

 

 _“Target’s parameters deteriorating,”_ Pod L0K1 announces in unflinching monotone _. “Elimination pending.”_

 

“I lied.” Crow says, perfunctory as trembling fingers grasp the hilt once more.

 

With his eyes closed, he can’t see the expression Joker is making. Despite everything, Joker makes no move to stagger backwards in futile escape— instead, he draws even closer, his grunts masking the sound of the blade digging in ever the slightest bit deeper.

 

Distantly, Crow thinks there must be something inherently faulty with his self-preservation blueprint. It would explain all the questionable decisions he had made throughout their entire first mission together, like how he would often prioritize the safety of a combat model like Crow instead of a scanner like himself. Not only does he frequently join the fray in Crow's fights against dangerous machines, but he fights as though he's fine with the concept of risking his life. He fights with the aggression of a combat model. Crow has worked with many of his type, and yet, he has never met a scanner like him before.

 

It perplexes him, unnerves him. The fact that he can even adjust his programming to enable melee combat is preposterous. It isn’t natural.

 

Oh, well. It doesn’t matter now.

 

He drives the blade in to the hilt, Joker's body a sheathe as blood splatters on his hands, his torso, his face.

 

He’s close enough to feel the full body shudder, the severely jagged whirring of his internal engines flaring up one last time before stuttering to a definitive halt.  

 

Joker’s fingers —tangled desperately and pleadingly in Crow’s hair— fall to his side, limp like a rag.

 

_“Black box confirmed offline.”_

 

He opens his eyes, pulling away from the body in front him, now cold and lifeless. Slowly, carefully, he pulls his sword out, the squelching of artificial blood a gruesome and discordant sound in the ensuing empty silence.

 

Since the day of his manufacturing, Crow had little problem restricting his emotions. After all, his job was simple. He was created as an all-purpose battle android, deployed as a member of the automated MetaNav infantry. Unlike scanner models who were programmed with the natural curiosity necessary for their missions, he was spared such meaningless minutiae.

 

Due to his high respect for the chain of command, he never sees it fit to question his orders. As far as he is concerned, executing his missions optimally is his highest priority.

 

Emotions are prohibited. The feeling known as guilt or remorse has no place in a high-end combat model like him.

 

So he tries to suppress them. And he would have succeeded, if something else hadn’t started to well up inside him in response. Before he knows it, he recalls it all.

 

 _Crow_! Joker had shouted with all his might, undeniable fear coursing through his voice as he hurtled towards him. The relentless teasing he had dealt Crow as they trudged through the desert. That night, the soft, bashful smile he gave him when he thought Crow wasn’t looking. Which mission was it again that he told Crow he liked him better with his visor off?

 

His visor, which lays haphazardly on the ground next to what was once Joker.

 

He makes no move to pick it up.

 

" _I don’t care if the others don’t like your eyes. Who cares if it looks like hostile machines or infected androids? It’s a part of you_." He had touched Crow, again, without his expressed permission. Reached behind him and untied his visor.

 

All MetaNav androids were equipped with a visor boasting a cutting edge HUD that boosts accuracy and efficiency levels— it was the main reason why MetaNav required all combatants to wear their visors in battle.

 

But in that moment, his vision had never felt clearer.

 

“ _And it’s beautiful_.”

 

He grits his teeth, chest tightening with something he cannot, will not name. He brought this upon himself. If it means accomplishing his mission, this is a burden he will gladly take upon himself.

 

“I won’t apologize.”

 

This is his mission. His duty. He feels nothing. No guilt, no remorse. None whatsoever. If he’s given an order like this again, he’ll do it in a heartbeat.

 

“Because this is my duty.” he says to himself as he raises his head, facing his pod hovering silently overhead. “Pod, contact Commander 5AE.”

 

As the projection flickers to life, he comes to a conclusion. He’ll have to do this again, so from now on, he'll forbid himself from growing too close to anyone else.

 

Not that he’d ever been close to anyone. Most other androids tended to keep their distance thanks to his unusual eye color, save for a select few whom he suspected to also be a similar type. And he’s never been more grateful for it. He no longer needs to put up masks with anyone. No more feigning geniality or diplomacy, even if it means succumbing to the perennial loneliness that constantly makes him yearn for something more. That way, he won't create unnecessary memories again.

 

That way… he won't have emotions that should never have existed in the first place.

 

He breathes in deeply, forcefully ejecting everything out of his chest — everything.

 

“MetaNav Special Operative Executioner Type: Crow. Mission accomplished.”

 

 

_._

 

 

_._

 

 

_._

 

 

_._

 

 

He is all too aware of who he is.

 

MetaNav Scanner Model Type: Joker. The most advanced model MetaNav has put forth, perhaps the only one of his kind due to the exorbitant cost of cross-referencing avant-garde research and development. As scanner models, they make use of their abilities in order to gather information on certain areas, as well as obtain data on their enemies: the machine lifeforms.

 

Nonetheless, it is safe to say that combat is not their forte. That's why they rely on hacking abilities as a countermeasure. It is a means which ensures that they will never need to attempt close quarter combat.

 

In fact, because of this, all of the scanner models had been created without the programming for combat. It is a waste of time and resources. Joker understands this.

 

Still, it does not stop him from teaching himself how to fight.

 

Despite having to consciously go against his programming numerous times —among other things, his lighter body mass proved it difficult for him to wield a single weapon properly, much less two— he succeeded.

 

He finds that knives and daggers are weapons that he is comfortable with the most. Not only are they small and put the least strain on his body, but they complement his profound agility to a degree he had been unaware of.

 

For whatever reason, once the commander found out, she did not penalize him. He had expected her to—

 

...Actually, he didn’t know what she would have done. No other android had ever tried to overwrite their own programmed nature like him. At least, not to his knowledge. His memories didn’t extend to a far enough point that he understood the bunker’s extensive history of android misconduct. This is why he hated being the youngest —and latest— model.

 

Surprisingly, she had allowed him to keep his skills, to the incredulity of his peers.

 

 _Seriously, Joker?_ His fellow scanner model Admin —who insisted on the name _Yuuki—_ proclaimed loudly, once they were out of sight. _You're really something else, aren't you?_

 

He's not dumb. He knows that sooner or later, an assassin will be sent after him. Not from the enemy... but from his own allied forces. The commander herself.

 

It's the most logical outcome. After all, he is a high-end scanner model, the only one of his kind. Naturally, his parameter settings would be much higher than a regular scanner's. One way or another, he’ll stumble across something they don’t want him to see.

 

He can't help but resent his natural curiosity just a little bit. What was the ancient human saying, again? _Curiosity killed the cat?_ How fitting.

 

Then along comes Crow.

 

He harbors no illusions of who Crow really is. He is much more than a pretty face; although Joker has to admit, he didn't expect his executioner to look so breathtaking. Soft, golden brown locks falling over his face, his visor lending a tantalizing aura of mystery to the eyes underneath. Somehow, he has a feeling it’s not the same silver-blue tone as the rest of them.

 

(Call it intuition.)

 

The first time they are introduced to each other, Joker has more questions than answers, but he finds that the second he opens his big mouth, the words don’t come as easy as it used to.

 

Instant attraction aside, there's just something about Crow's countenance that feels off. Or maybe it's a sense of deja vu?

 

"MetaNav Combat Model Type: Crow," his voice is sharp and steady, yet spills like rich velvet. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

 

Joker pauses, then breaks into a slow, charming smile.

 

"The pleasure is all mine."

 

 

 

_._

 

 

_._

 

 

_._

 

 

_._

 

“People who know me well usually call me Ren, so…”

 

Crow almost freezes where he stands, but continues walking, albeit a little stiffer than usual.  

 

It’s hard to pretend that this hasn’t happened before, though he likes to think he’s getting better and better at dealing with it. The very first time Joker asked, Crow had nearly doubled in on himself, the assassination still fresh in his mind. He had collapsed, a panicked scanner fussing over him as Crow quickly claimed fatigue, a small defect in his NFCS system. Nothing that a short rest wouldn’t fix.

 

_“Hey, uh. Just so you know, my friends call me Ren. Do you want to…”_

 

_“I think ‘Ren’ sounds a lot better than ‘Joker’. It just rolls off the tongue, y’know? So…”_

 

_“You can call me Ren, if you want. I’m not really sure where it came from, exactly, but—”_

 

 

_—The pond was muddied and murky by many centuries of obsolescence, yet still, the purple and pink lotus flowers shone so brilliantly as they rose from the depths of watery filth. Crow watched, entranced, as they glided gently, delicately along the surface._

 

_An eternity of cleansing one’s mind and body of sin and memories. Over and over, without end._

 

_No matter how many times they drowned, they would always be reborn anew, unblemished and pure._

 

 _“_ **_Ren_ ** _.”_

 

 _The word came unbidden, rolling off his tongue before he could think twice about it. It was arbitrary, to be sure— Crow had hoped the other didn't hear, but that was quickly proven wrong by how Crow glanced to the side to see his partner staring at him, head cocked in confusion. Crow sighed, looking back at the pond._ _“You wanted a real name, didn’t you?”_

 

_“Ren?”_

 

_The last thing Crow saw before he was drowned in a flurry of arms and vibrating processors was Joker, whose face brightened for the first time that day._

 

_“Goro, you’re ama—”_

 

 

“So, really, it’s fine if you want to call me that.” he says, blissful in a fool’s paradise. “Speaking of, you got a name your friends call you by, too?”

 

Crow shuts his eyes, pretending he hasn’t done this before. Slowly, once more, he lets go.

 

“No, I don’t.”

 

He lets go.

 

 

_._

 

 

_._

 

 

_._

 

 

_._

 

 

 

Things go to hell faster than Joker can even blink.

 

It was supposed to be another generic battle against the machines. Nothing more, nothing less. They weren’t supposed to be anything special. At least, they didn’t look like it.

 

Then again, none of the machines looked that different from each other, save for the two humanoid machines they had encountered a while back; the oddly eccentric, obsessive blue-haired man and the simple-minded, overly aggressive blond who proclaimed to be his brother, even though they looked nothing alike. Those two were definitely on a whole other level entirely — Crow and Joker had barely escaped with their lives intact.

 

In comparison, these machines should have been nothing. They were nothing more than a couple of small fry, the run-of-the-mill foes littered all over the city ruins landscape. But Joker had been mistaken. Among them were aerial units he quickly realized were equipped with the ability to jam signals. That was why they were able to catch Crow and Joker so off-guard in the first place; by disguising themselves from detection.

 

Joker had no time to berate himself before he alerted Crow, who immediately threw himself into the fight, guns and swords blazing. Not to be outdone, Joker had quickly followed, aiming for the foes hovering in the air, just out of Crow’s immediate reach. At this point, hacking into enemy systems and detonating them took almost no time at all, and Joker was about to sigh in relief when he noticed Crow suddenly acting off-base.

 

He started stumbling more, his counterattacks not quite connecting as he parried only to run into an obstacle and nearly trip on himself. One of the larger machines pulled its limbs back, charging up for a strike, but before Joker could yell at him to watch out, it lashed out and launched him into a nearby wall, shattering the concrete surface.

 

There Crow lays, circuits sparking in his joints, his visor slipping, and that’s when Joker sees it. His eyes, glowing an unnatural, alizarin crimson.

 

Stricken by panic and anger, Joker hurls himself with a fierce battle cry towards the remaining few machines that had started ambling towards his fallen comrade. Knives lodge themselves deep in their circuitry before they can turn. Cores penetrated, they burst into flames and shards, impaling other machines nearby and halting their advance. Wasting no time, he slices the rest in halves, and before long, they’re nothing but a pile of ash and cinders.  

 

“Crow!”

 

Scraps of metal and debris surround Crow as Joker runs toward him, lifting him into a sitting position. Thankfully, there aren’t any immediate, noticeable injuries, but there’s no telling what’s happening on the inside. He needs medical attention stat. And his eyes… he could be mistaken, but…

 

“Good job...defeating the rest of them,” Crow says, eyes pulsing with menacing energy. “You don’t have to worry about me, I’m fine.” Then he makes to stand up, but not before Joker stops him.

 

“Don’t be stupid!” Joker hisses. “Just let me analyze what’s going on first before you do anything rash!”

 

“I told you, do _n’t_ wo _rry ab_ out _me_ —” Strange noises accompany his voice, and his eyes widen as he realizes something. His hands start shaking uncontrollably and he reaches up, clawing at his own neck.

 

Cursing, Joker swats Crow’s hands away. The signs are all there — it isn’t just his imagination. Glowing, red eyes, neurological tremors, and the glitching, distorted phase in regular speech.

 

“It’s a logic virus.” Joker narrows his eyes, biting back another curse.

 

A logic virus is transmitted from machines and infects an android to systematically destroy it. Once contaminated, it causes various malfunctions and hindered mobility. If left alone long enough, it can affect the android’s electronic brain by forcibly rewriting the data to destroy it — as well as let adulterant machines assume trojan authority for the purpose of espionage. Thankfully, it hasn’t progressed that far yet. The machines must have implanted the virus when they were still incognito, and the battle that had just ensued was only a means of buying time for the virus to take root. If that battle had taken just a minute longer...

 

“Hold still, I’m going to hack in and neutralize the virus before it gets even worse.”

 

In a brief flash of lucidity, Crow shakes his head in stuttering alarm. “N-No, th _at_ won’t _be nec_ —”

 

“Shut up. I’m not letting you throw away your life like this.” He cuts in, laying him down on his back as he hovers over him, arm outstretched. He can’t afford to waste a second. Once the infection reaches his personality data, he will be beyond saving. Taking a deep breath, he focuses his own personality data code into Crow, whose head is still shaking and pleading.

 

 

.

 

 

.

 

 

.

 

 

.

 

 

 

What should be a landscape of pristine white blocks is now stained with blotches of black. Columns and pillars of pure information are adorned with sinister, glowing red arteries proliferating en masse, ensnaring the walls and curled in on each other like tree roots deprived of sustenance. They concatenate with alarming speed, embroiling into a cesspool of cancerous mass that is slowly but surely swelling in size — typical symptoms of a logic virus. Every second he waits is when another white block gets consumed, so he gets to work right away.

 

Dismantling the virus proves easier than expected when all their attacks are coordinated and predictable. Before long, all of them are eradicated, and surrounding dark matter starts dissolving into thin air at its leisure. Damage control — successful. Now, all Joker has left to do is perform rehabilitation. Scanning his environment, he finds memory data that have been cracked as a result of the alien invasion.

 

Without further ado, he dives in to patch up the damage.

 

He is met with stillness, the careful tranquility of a padded room. A person stands before him, tall and slender with an unmistakable aura of absolute authority. Her hair is pulled to the side, cascading down her back in silver waves. She turns around, his presence made known, and fixes dark mauve eyes on him. It’s Commander 5AE.

 

 _“...Crow.”_ She begins. _“Are you ready to commence the operation?”_

 

He salutes. _“Crow, reporting for duty. Ready to deploy.”_

 

 _“Very well. This time, I will personally debrief you instead of your Operator.”_ She says, tone unflinching as ever. _“Your instructions are to terminate scanner unit Joker.”_

 

Joker freezes — or is it Crow?

 

_“He has attempted illegal access to the main server multiple times. We found traces of him having accessed the most confidential layer in the past few days.”_

 

The air is suddenly sucked dry around him and it feels a little harder to breathe. His muscles are locked, and all the background noise grinds to a halt. It seems Crow had been shaken to the core.

 

 _“You will be assigned as his partner for the duration of this mission. I leave the timing of his termination to your discretion.”_ The commander nods. _“That is all. You are dismissed.”_

 

Joker was right all along. He knew this would be coming. Why was Crow acting so shocked? It’s his job. He didn’t even know Joker personally.

 

Right?

 

Before he knows it, the scenery changes. 

 

 _"Y'know, I've been seeing this word a lot."_  He sees and hears himself standing in front of a broken down bookshelf, scrutinizing a poor, dilapidated excuse of a book barely hanging together by a thread. 

 

They are in one of the data-storage facilities constructed by past human civilizations — a library. He had heard of these in passing, but visiting them in person was not something he could recall. Is this a dream?

 

 _"What is it?"_  Crow is skimming through the mounds of miscellaneous curios on the floor for some trifling whatnot requested by one of their benefactors, his tone mired in mild dispassion.

 

_"'Justice'."_

 

An inexplicable urge overcomes Crow then. One that causes him to turn and look at the other, who is staring back at him with an indecipherable, somewhat expectant expression on his face. 

 

 _"What?"_  Irritation flares suddenly in his core, just a tiny spark.  _"It's an outdated, romantic concept humans clung to for their own incessantly convoluted system of procedural law and legality. It has nothing to do with us."_

_"Hmm...You're right. It sounds pretty messy."_  He agrees.  _"And definitely romantic."_

 

Crow stifles a sigh.  _"Joker—"_

 

 _"Hey. I can't help but think about it."_  He speaks up, putting the book away before rejoining Crow. _"For something that used to be so prominent in past civilizations, there has to be some merit in keeping it alive. It'd be a shame to just let it rot away like everything else we lost."_

 

 _"'We'? You talk as if you're a human yourself."_  Crow scoffs, crossing his arms. _"In case you weren't aware, Joker, you're an android. Your objective is to protect humanity, not impersonate them."_

 

_"I know that. But doesn't it mean anything to you? The fact that we're created in the impression of the humans we're tasked to safeguard? Where do you think our personalities came from?"_

 

 _"You scanners are all so incorrigible. The origin of our forms are irrelevant. We may be created in their image, but it is only for the sake of performance. It's not in your place to question it."_  Crow shakes his head. _"And besides, do you honestly believe you possess the qualities to enact this so-called 'righteousness'?"_

 

A moment of silence. He feels a surge of relief wash over Crow's being, convinced that he has quelled the situation for the time being, but then—

 

 _"I think you do, too."_ He says quietly.  _"I know I haven't known you for very long. But I have a feeling that you'd do what you feel is right."_

 

Before Joker could anticipate Crow's response, he's suddenly thrown into darkness. What's happening?

 

 

 

_“Black box confirmed offline.”_

 

He starts. That was strange; he hadn’t even touched another memory fragment, and he’s already thrust into another one? And that voice… it sounded like Crow’s pod. Whose black box did he destroy? He can’t see anything. Either the place was too dark or Crow had his eyes shut tightly.

 

_“MetaNav Special Operative Executioner Type: Crow. Mission accomplished.”_

 

Scattered memory fragments lay in front of Joker, and he moves forward to inspect them. They’re disjointed, marred with cracks and thorns. He’s never seen anything like it.

 

Everything inside him screams at him to step away and leave the hacking space. As they say, ignorance is bliss. What he doesn't know can't hurt him. But he can’t stop now. He’s already seen too much. He _has_ to know who it was… and what the deal is with Crow’s disfigured memories.

 

As soon as he touches another one, his nerves singe with pain, and he very nearly recoils. No, the pain only proves to spur him forward. He’s so close.

 

_“People who know me well usually call me Ren, so…”_

 

His voice again. Ah… he said that recently, didn’t he. It’s the first and only time he’s brought it up, but Crow’s reaction had been so peculiar. It’s just a name, and yet it seemed as if the whole world was falling in on him. It was a simple offer that he was free to refuse.

 

He remembers mulling over it for some time afterwards. Could it be that Crow was so disgusted by it that he reacted so badly? It’s the only explanation for why he’s feeling so much pain in Crow’s chest right now.

 

Rude, but Joker isn’t too surprised. Considering Crow’s terrible track record with him, there are other things to worry about.

 

He is shoved into another memory, his surroundings a small pond he remembers resting in at some point with Crow. He’s looking over the pond, a thoughtful, pensive look on his face.

 

_“Ren. You wanted a real name, didn’t you?”_

 

What?

 

_“Goro, you’re amazing! I really love it!”_

 

Goro? Who is that? That’s his own voice. But that can’t be. He doesn’t ever recall saying that. To Crow, nonetheless. As far as he knows, Crow is Crow. He remembers asking about his name, but—

 

And the pressure of his own body against Crow’s...that was an intimacy that he had never allowed him. Not ever. So how—?

 

He’s suddenly whisked back to the previous memory, Crow’s body heavy as he walks on.

 

_“You got a name your friends call you by, too?”_

 

Once again, his visual information is cut off. He’s positive Crow’s shut his eyes this time.

 

 _“...No, I don’t.”_ Crow’s voice laden with intent and —dare he pinpoint it?— veiled despair.

 

Joker can’t even process the pain in his chest as his brain scrambles to piece everything together. It’s like he’s attempting a puzzle he knows all the pieces to, and yet the pieces still won’t fit.

 

Soundlessly, he lets the next fragment play.

 

_“Ren.”_

 

He hears his name again in Crow’s voice. Yet it is completely devoid of emotion, instead it hangs heavy. Nevertheless, he sees himself in front of Crow, turning around with an excited, eager expression.

 

The sound of a sword plunging through his body. His own betrayed gasp. Blood. So much blood.

 

_“I lied.”_

 

Oh.

 

_“I won’t apologize…….because this is my duty.”_

 

Now, it all makes sense.

 

What he’s watching now, and everything he’s watched...it’s all led up to this. His very first assassination. It explains all the wrongness he’s felt about Crow, the deja vu, the peculiarity of his actions.

 

Crow has killed him before.

 

Numb, he touches the next fragment, the pain a dull sensation to his frayed nerves.

 

This next particular execution happened in outer space. Crow destroyed Joker during their descent to earth. Another execution happened as they made camp, Joker's guard let down almost completely.

 

Sometimes he executed him after undertaking missions together. Sometimes he attacked and executed him while they were “total strangers”.

 

No matter how many times he’s executed or how many times his memory got wiped, Joker will always reach the same conclusion — the commander is hiding something. And to sate his curiosity, he will always attempt to access the main server.

 

All being none the wiser.

 

“So that’s how it is…”

 

He had known from the start that Crow was destined to be his executioner. It was just too obvious. But he didn’t know it wasn’t his first time being assigned to him. His shock at the commander’s request was not because he simply had to kill one of his own, but because it’s someone he’s always been close to.

 

He’d assumed that Crow had worked with other S-types in the past, and he’s not entirely wrong. It’s just that he only worked with one — Joker. But not the ‘current Joker’.

 

Joker, whose name had been given by Crow from the very beginning.

 

Joker, who had also given Crow his name — _Goro_.

 

The pain he feels when he touches his memories, and the pain that wracked Goro’s body when he’d asked him what should have been obvious… he’s caused him so much suffering and agony. So much that Goro’s personality data is in complete tatters.

 

But after watching all those memories and piecing all of it together, now he’s certain of one thing. The other constant aside from this tragic cycle of death and rebirth.

 

Nothing makes him happier than to be by Goro’s side. He’s not alone anymore. He has a family. He doesn’t know when exactly it all started, when he started seeing Crow as more than his pretty executioner and a temporary comrade into someone truly irreplaceable and dear to him. So whatever it takes, he’ll…

 

 

.

 

 

.

 

 

.

 

  
.

 

 

 

When Crow drifts back into consciousness, the first thing he sees is Joker's face hovering over him, eyes closed, a hand threading through his hair in rhythmic, soothing motions. The back of his head feels warm — he's laying on the scanner's lap.

 

Seeing his face like this, so tranquil and serene, brings back memories. Crow's hand tingles, but he stays still.  He blinks, and the next thing he knows, Joker is looking at him.

 

"... _Goro_."

 

In that instant, it feels like Crow’s heart stopped, and time had slowed to a standstill.

 

It has been years since he last heard that name. A name he should not know in his current lifetime.

 

He tries to move, but Joker's hold is gentle but firm. Given a proper energy output, he can certainly break free. Unfortunately, his processors have only just recovered from the virus, and he’s still feeling abnormally sluggish and lethargic.

 

Trying to stamp down the impending panic, he lets irritation bubble to the surface instead. Damn Joker. When will he ever learn not to do things without permission? If only he didn’t just go ahead and hack into his memory regions…

 

“I removed the virus.”

 

Crow tries to look away, but his head is set in place. He has no choice but to look into his visorless eyes.

 

“I take it you’ve seen it all.”

 

Shining, silver eyes laced in deep, subdued sadness. His silence speaks a thousand words as he simply nods.

 

“...I see.”

 

To be honest, he wasn’t surprised. Scanner models have always been insightful — the Joker model even more so. He knows that Joker had already seen through his secret mission multiple times.

 

He isn’t sure whether it’s because of Joker’s first-rate intuition and intelligence, or if Crow really is just a terrible liar.

 

“You’re not really a combat model, are you...”

 

This is new. He’s never called Crow out on it before.

 

“...MetaNav Special Operative Executioner Type: Crow.”

 

Tasked with pursuing and executing deserters or rebels, as well as finishing off fellow androids that could no longer function on the battlefield. That is his true purpose.

 

“It really was such a flimsy cover. _Crow_? Really?” Joker shakes his head. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what that means.”

 

Crow feels his energy returning, his processors warming up from its unintended coma.

 

“Goro has always been a much better name.” he says, with a slight tremor. “If only you’d gone by that instead, maybe…”

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Crow cuts in. “The end will still be the same.”

 

It’s true. It’s not as if Crow hadn’t thought of it before, but it changes nothing. He’s tried so many things to prevent the same ending. Multiple times. When he got the chance to work with Joker, he tried his hardest to persuade him not to suspect the commander. When he had to execute him without a chance to interact with him, Crow erased his memories and tried to nip his suspicions in the bud.

 

But all of his efforts were fruitless. No matter what he did, he couldn’t change the end result. It doesn’t matter if he treated Joker with affection, indifference or hostility. It doesn’t matter whether he calls him ‘Ren’ or not. At the very end, Crow will always receive orders to kill Joker.

 

So even if he went by ‘Goro’, instead; even if he gives in to that unrelenting urge that sticks to the back of his mind like a logic virus; even if he holds it infinitely close to his heart because _Joker was the one who gave him that name_ , it would still change nothing.

 

Joker doesn’t stop him as he rises and goes around him to pick up his sword. He can see Joker from his peripheral vision — he stays immobile, yet his shoulders are shaking. He knows that Crow had killed him countless times before.

 

Crow kneels in front of Joker, forcing him to look up at him.

 

“I don’t intend to kill you anymore.”

 

The blade in his hand is white and pristine, but he can see the blood that had mottled it all over its length. No matter how many times he wipes it off, the red is still there, intransigent and everlasting.

 

He turns the point towards himself and gives the handle to Joker, who looks at him with a mix of dawning horror and dread.

 

Crow smiles. “It’s your turn to kill me.”

 

His mission ended in undeniable failure. What kind of assassin would let their target know they’ve come to end their life? He’s never heard of an Executioner Type who would mess up so badly. As someone who takes immeasurable pride and allegiance in his missions, he can’t imagine living with this failure for the rest of his existence. There is simply no use for a defective product who can’t even justify his own operating costs.

 

At the very least—

 

“At the very least,” Crow says, catching his breath. “I want to die by your hands.”

 

He has no illusions about this being any form of atonement. What atonement is there for one who commits deliberate murder? Not once, but many times; all of the same person. Death is as vague of a concept to him as humans are, but even then, he has no doubt that nothing awaits him in the afterlife, save for a reminder of his past sins enveloping him like a sweet lover.

 

But if he could even give back a sliver of what he’d taken from Joker...there’s nothing much left for him to give. This is the only thing that he has to offer.

 

He sees Joker tighten his grip on the sword handle. He smiles and awaits his last moments, perfectly content with his final words. It encapsulated everything he wants Joker to know. Though if they had more time, maybe Crow could tell him. He’ll tell him—

 

The sword flashes.

 

“ _Ren_?!”

 

Blood showers like rain on his head, his cheeks, his lips, his eyes widening in complete and utter shock. He can’t blink. He can’t feel. He can’t seem to move fast enough.

 

Jo— _Ren_ , having sliced his own throat, slowly falls over. Crow catches him at the very last second, cradling the body in his arms close. Closer. Blood. So much blood. His blood.

 

He hears nothing but his artificial heart thumping with wild abandon in his chest. Even his screams sound distant to his ears. Like a voice that doesn’t belong to him.

 

“You finally...called me Ren,” he rasps, a red-streaked grin on his insufferable face. “Took you...long enough. Guess...this...w-was all...worth it, eh?” he coughs at the end, blood foaming at his mouth.

 

“ _Shut up_!” Crow screams, his voice cracking. “Shut up, just shut up! How could you!?” His voice output rises even higher, and he can’t stop it. “You _fucking_ piece of trash, what have you done?! This isn’t the time to joke around!”

 

“I’m not... joking,” Ren winces, breath coming in abrupt gasps. “I… had fun.”

 

“ _F-fun_?” And just like that, Crow’s voice dies. It’s the absolute last thing he expects to hear.  He had fun? That’s impossible. It’s no secret that Ren has a few screws loose that newly constructed bodies and memory wipes can never seem to repair. Crow is coming to the conclusion that, this whole time, he may have severely underestimated the irrevocable damage done to his logics processor.

 

“You’re… thinking I’m insane.” He tries to laugh, but it’s paper-thin and comes out mostly as a slight gurgle. “You’re probably not wrong. Not...many people would like being stuck... with a perpetually grumpy, sometimes pretentious...ass.” His eyebrows scrunch together as he visibly struggles to keep himself lucid. “But I did. I really enjoyed... the time we spent together. Working with you… t-teasing you and… giving you a...hard time… being scolded by you…. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. And I know...that goes for all my previous selves too.”

 

“Ren...” His chest feels like it’s caving in. _I’m sorry_ , he wants to say and more, but Ren interrupts his unspoken apology.

 

“Don’t apologize. Instead…”

 

A hand reaches up to cup his cheek, gently wiping away the tears he doesn’t realize are falling. Even with his rough breathing, Ren is smiling.

 

“Next time...don’t hesitate...to kill me. Because we….will meet again. I know it.” As long as he wipes his memory regions and re-installs his personality data, he will get to meet Crow again. Even if he won’t be his current self anymore. “I want….to see you...again…”

 

Even if their next meeting is nothing but a preface to another execution.

 

“I understand.” His vision blurs, and he can’t discern Ren’s last expression. It’s not like he can, really, not when Ren brings their heads so close together and painstakingly whispers his last words, ending with a slow brush of lips on his cheek.

 

The body in his arms becomes heavier. The hand caressing his locks falls limply to his side. His black box signal is weakening by the moment. It would be cruel to let this drag out any longer.

 

Laying down Ren’s body delicately on the ground, he plunges his sword through his chest. His black box signal disappears completely.

 

“I promise.”

 

 _That I won’t hesitate to kill you_. The next time, or the time after that. Not because of his mission, but because that’s what Ren wants. To grant his wish of meeting again...Goro will kill him.

 

 _And_ …

 

“ ** _Please...let me call you Goro...in my next life_** _._ ”

 

He’ll grant him that wish. Because it doesn’t matter if he goes by the name _Goro_.

 

The end will still be the same.

**Author's Note:**

> ❤


End file.
